Some Like It Hot
by screamingwindchime
Summary: It's a simple conflict of interests between Shaun and Desmond, with a more-than-complex solution: Sex!   Yaoi and Shounen-ai. Genre picking sucks.


"Damn it, Desmond, turn off that damn AC!" mumbled an irritated Shaun Hastings. It was eight fucking degrees (Celsius, of course) and he was freezing his dick off, and he really needed sleep, and the need made him irritable and mad.

Desmond nuzzled his face into Shaun's neck, exhaling slowly. Shaun bit his lip, and fisted the sheets in his hand to prevent himself from flipping over sexing the damn assassin. "But why?" he said, warm tongue darting out to lick at the junction of shoulder and neck, fingers ghosting over the exposed skin of his thigh. Damn boxer shorts. "You could wear pants instead," he whispered, nibbling on the shell of Shaun's ear.

_Fuck no. _he wanted to say. So bad. But he couldn't; there were four teams going on the field tomorrow and they needed his help in the morning, and to wake up in the morning he'd have to get his sleep. "Nngh," he steeled his features, concentrated hard on sleeping. Then Desmond's cool hand wandered onto the waistband of his boxers, the other snaking around his waist, fingers lightly tracing the dips and lines of his abdomen, going slowly down…

"Because some like it hot, Desmond, my dick included if you're asking," he said bluntly, and quite abruptly Desmond ceased his motions. His hands pulled away, and Shaun felt the bed move as Desmond sat up.

"Well thank you, Desmond. I'll sleep well tonight, and know that all the world will know of your good deeds; today, the day you turned off the AC for Sha—_what the fuck do you think you're doing?"_ he demanded, now on his back, the covers pulled completely off the bed and Desmond pinning him flat on his back, straddling his hips and hands roughly pushing his shoulders down.

"About to go down on you, duh," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You _did_ say you like it hot."

"Yes but I didn't—" he was about to say _'mean it that way,' _when he was cut off by a pair of assuredly _warm_ lips on his own. And for a while Shaun was okay with it, answering each playful nip on his bottom lip with a flick of his tongue, trading air without breaking for a while. And it was nice, he had to admit—until Desmond had to ruin it.

At least for Shaun.

Desmond's hands left Shaun's shoulders, trailing downward to his neck and collarbone as Desmond broke the kiss, trailing lips and tongue down as well. One hand slipped under his shirt and the other—_oh, god,_ the _other_.

The _other_ slid beneath the waistband of his boxers, long, deft, lightly calloused fingers grazing lightly over his –suddenly—hardening erection. And if Shaun knew anything at _all_ about he whose hands were on him, he was definitely _enjoying_ this. Definitely. It was only confirmed when he saw the edge of a smirk as he watched in shock, horror and some twisted _want_ as Desmond pushed Shaun's shirt up, to reveal the toned muscle that no one—until Desmond came around—ever saw.

Desmond trailed a hand between the cleft of his pectorals before his lips descended upon it, but never really got to, as Shaun—still in slight shock—began to speak in protest.

"Des—Desmond—please stop," he said, knowing _full well_ that he was going to hate himself for not letting this happen. But he had work and he hadn't slept well in days and his cock was throbbing _so hard_ and Desmond and his _fucking_ puppy dog eyes—

"I'll be quick, I promise," he said, biting his lip like a child begging for candy. Unfortunately for Shaun he knew he couldn't resist it, and dear lord Desmond gave the best blow jobs in the world—

So he found himself nodding numbly, throwing his head back as suddenly Desmond was no longer straddled on him, his boxers were pulled down to his knees and his erect manhood stood proudly against his stomach.

"Snarky slut," muttered Desmond, and Shaun bit back a retort as Desmond moved slowly back, bent low and flicked a warm tongue at his tip. Shaun flushed and his ears flared red, and suddenly beads of sweat appeared along his hairline when Desmond took him into his mouth boldly. Then Desmond raised one hand, gripped Shaun's pre-cum dripping cock, and stroked as Desmond teased languorous circles about his slit. Shaun restrained himself from pushing Desmond's head down, down, _down_ because… well, because by then he'd have fucked Desmond's mouth so hard it would probably never happen again.

Or maybe it would—more often, possibly?—but Shaun didn't count on it. So he refused the urge to buck and so bit his lip until he thought he would draw blood, and fisted his hands in the remaining sheets. Desmond seemed to take it as a sign of either _do it again_ or _pleaseplease__**please**__stop_ because he didn't speed up or anything, but _did_ begin to fondle the sensitive skin of his balls as he took his time sucking and licking and just _mouth fucking _Shaun, from sensitive head, to the pulsating vein on the underside of his shaft, to throbbing base.

Shaun's cheeks grew heated and he could feel the pre-come buzz come to him, everything suddenly warm and dark and inviting.

Everything being Desmond's mouth.

And all that restraint? _**Gone**_, in an instant, when, combined with an experienced twist of the wrist, Desmond picked up his pace, head bobbing up and down as he sucked Shaun's now-concrete-hard cock. He couldn't help himself; he bucked, and he knew that Desmond would feel that at the back of his throat and but he'd taken it himself too many times before that he couldn't _not_ be entitled to do it at least _once_.

Instead of retaliating in pain or pausing for a moment, Desmond's pace only sped up, his rapid-fire motions being met halfway by Shaun's bucks and thrusts. Shaun had given up on controlling himself, his hand finding its own way to Desmond's head, grabbing at the mussed, short brown hair. With each flick of Desmond's tongue, each tiny amount of added suction, Shaun knew he was peaking _soon_, and his body melted while the world spun around him, leaving nothing but pleasure and _Desmond._

And then Desmond stopped.

Shaun lay there bonelessly, desperate for release, but Desmond had just upped and laid back down next to Shaun, wiping drool off his chin.

He didn't know whether he was cursing Desmond or begging for him to go back and let him finish, but in his flurry of incoherence Desmond but laughed at him.

"You're thoroughly warm, now, Shaun. I do believe that's what you asked for," said Desmond, while Shaun's face contorted in a mixture of confusion and anger. He _was_ right; Shaun, in his nearing release, had grown hot all over, feverishly so but without the actual sickness. His skin was flushed and hot sweat coated the skin of his arms and legs and generally everywhere else, beading up at his hairline and a solitary trail dripping down his right ear.

Which Desmond promptly licked off, lapping it up like a kitten to a bowl of milk. The skin there was sensitive and extra-responsive now, and Shaun could just _feel _himself getting _that much fucking closer_ to finally blowing his load. But Desmond moved away. Again.

He stood up, picked up the sheets from the floor, and curled up in them.

Shaun was absolutely dumbstruck.

Absolutely dumbstruck with the world's greatest orgasm _that was never going to happen._

He couldn't believe it.

"And if you're asking, I'm not turning the AC off."


End file.
